IT came quite as a surprise even to Alyosha himself. He was not required to take the oath, and I remember that both sides addressed him very gently and sympathetically. It was evident that his reputation for goodness had preceded him. Alyosha gave his evidence modestly and with restraint, but his warm sympathy for his unhappy brother was unmistakable. In answer to one question, he sketched1 his brother’s character as that of a man, violent-tempered perhaps and carried away by his passions, but at the same time honourable2, proud and generous, capable of self-sacrifice, if necessary. He admitted, however, that, through his passion for Grushenka and his rivalry3 with his father, his brother had been of late in an intolerable position. But he repelled4 with indignation the suggestion that his brother might have committed a murder for the sake of gain, though he recognised that the three thousand roubles had become almost an obsession5 with Mitya; that upon them as part of the inheritance he had been cheated of by his father, and that, indifferent as he was to money as a rule, he could not even speak of that three thousand without fury. As for the rivalry of the two “ladies,” as the prosecutor6 expressed it — that is, of Grushenka and Katya — he answered evasively and was even unwilling7 to answer one or two questions altogether.
“Did your brother tell you, anyway, that he intended to kill your father?” asked the prosecutor. “You can refuse to answer if you think necessary,” he added.
“He did not tell me so directly,” answered Alyosha.
“How so? Did he indirectly8?”
“He spoke9 to me once of his hatred10 for our father and his fear that at an extreme moment . . . at a moment of fury, he might perhaps murder him.”
“And you believed him?”
“I am afraid to say that I did. But I never doubted that some higher feeling would always save him at that fatal moment, as it has indeed saved him, for it was not he killed my father,” Alyosha said firmly, in a loud voice that was heard throughout the court.
The prosecutor started like a war-horse at the sound of a trumpet11.
“Let me assure you that I fully12 believe in the complete sincerity13 of your conviction and do not explain it by or identify it with your affection for your unhappy brother. Your peculiar14 view of the whole tragic15 episode is known to us already from the preliminary investigation16. I won’t attempt to conceal17 from you that it is highly individual and contradicts all the other evidence collected by the prosecution18. And so I think it essential to press you to tell me what facts have led you to this conviction of your brother’s innocence19 and of the guilt20 of another person against whom you gave evidence at the preliminary inquiry21?”
“I only answered the questions asked me at the preliminary inquiry,” replied Alyosha, slowly and calmly. “I made no accusation22 against Smerdyakov of myself.”
“Yet you gave evidence against him?”
“I was led to do so by my brother Dmitri’s words. I was told what took place at his arrest and how he had pointed23 to Smerdyakov before I was examined. I believe absolutely that my brother is innocent, and if he didn’t commit the murder, then-”
“Then Smerdyakov? Why Smerdyakov? And why are you so completely persuaded of your brother’s innocence?”
“I cannot help believing my brother. I know he wouldn’t lie to me. I saw from his face he wasn’t lying.”
“Only from his face? Is that all the proof you have?”
“I have no other proof.”
“And of Smerdyakov’s guilt you have no proof whatever but your brother’s word and the expression of his face?”
“No, I have no other proof.”
The prosecutor dropped the examination at this point. The impression left by Alyosha’s evidence on the public was most disappointing. There had been talk about Smerdyakov before the trial; someone had heard something, someone had pointed out something else, it was said that Alyosha had gathered together some extraordinary proofs of his brother’s innocence and Smerdyakov’s guilt, and after all there was nothing, no evidence except certain moral convictions so natural in a brother.
But Fetyukovitch began his cross-examination. On his asking Alyosha when it was that the prisoner had told him of his hatred for his father and that he might kill him, and whether he had heard it, for instance, at their last meeting before the catastrophe24, Alyosha started as he answered, as though only just recollecting25 and understanding something.
“I remember one circumstance now which I’d quite forgotten myself. It wasn’t clear to me at the time, but now-”
And, obviously only now for the first time struck by an idea, he recounted eagerly how, at his last interview with Mitya that evening under the tree, on the road to the monastery26, Mitya had struck himself on the breast, “the upper part of the breast,” and had repeated several times that he had a means of regaining27 his honour, that that means was here, here on his breast. “I thought, when he struck himself on the breast, he meant that it was in his heart,” Alyosha continued, “that he might find in his heart strength to save himself from some awful disgrace which was awaiting him and which he did not dare confess even to me. I must confess I did think at the time that he was speaking of our father, and that the disgrace he was shuddering28 at was the thought of going to our father and doing some violence to him. Yet it was just then that he pointed to something on his breast, so that I remember the idea struck me at the time that the heart is not on that part of the breast, but below, and that he struck himself much too high, just below the neck, and kept pointing to that place. My idea seemed silly to me at the time, but he was perhaps pointing then to that little bag in which he had fifteen hundred roubles!”
“Just so, Mitya cried from his place. “That’s right, Alyosha, it was the little bag I struck with my fist.”
Fetyukovitch flew to him in hot haste entreating29 him to keep quiet, and at the same instant pounced30 on Alyosha. Alyosha, carried away himself by his recollection, warmly expressed his theory that this disgrace was probably just that fifteen hundred roubles on him, which he might have returned to Katerina Ivanovna as half of what he owed her, but which he had yet determined31 not to repay her and to use for another purpose — namely, to enable him to elope with Grushenka, if she consented.
“It is so, it must be so,” exclaimed Alyosha, in sudden excitement. “My brother cried several times that half of the disgrace, half of it (he said half several times) he could free himself from at once, but that he was so unhappy in his weakness of will that he wouldn’t do it . . . that he knew beforehand he was incapable32 of doing it!”
“And you clearly, confidently remember that he struck himself just on this part of the breast?” Fetyukovitch asked eagerly.
“Clearly and confidently, for I thought at the time, ‘Why does he strike himself up there when the heart is lower down?’ and the thought seemed stupid to me at the time . . . I remember its seeming stupid . . . it flashed through my mind. That’s what brought it back to me just now. How could I have forgotten it till now? It was that little bag he meant when he said he had the means but wouldn’t give back that fifteen hundred. And when he was arrested at Mokroe he cried out — I know, I was told it — that he considered it the most disgraceful act of his life that when he had the means of repaying Katerina Ivanovna half (half, note!) what he owed her, he yet could not bring himself to repay the money and preferred to remain a thief in her eyes rather than part with it. And what torture, what torture that debt has been to him!” Alyosha exclaimed in conclusion.
The prosecutor, of course, intervened. He asked Alyosha to describe once more how it had all happened, and several times insisted on the question, “Had the prisoner seemed to point to anything? Perhaps he had simply struck himself with his fist on the breast?”
“But it was not with his fist,” cried Alyosha; “he pointed with his fingers and pointed here, very high up. . . . How could I have so completely forgotten it till this moment?”
The President asked Mitya what he had to say to the last witness’s evidence. Mitya confirmed it, saying that he had been pointing to the fifteen hundred roubles which were on his breast, just below the neck, and that that was, of course, the disgrace, “A disgrace I cannot deny, the most shameful33 act of my whole life,” cried Mitya. “I might have repaid it and didn’t repay it. I preferred to remain a thief in her eyes rather than give it back. And the most shameful part of it was that I knew beforehand I shouldn’t give it back! You are right, Alyosha! Thanks, Alyosha!”
So Alyosha’s cross-examination ended. What was important and striking about it was that one fact at least had been found, and even though this were only one tiny bit of evidence, a mere34 hint at evidence, it did go some little way towards proving that the bag had existed and had contained fifteen hundred roubles and that the prisoner had not been lying at the preliminary inquiry when he alleged35 at Mokroe that those fifteen hundred roubles were “his own.” Alyosha was glad. With a flushed face he moved away to the seat assigned to him. He kept repeating to himself: “How was it I forgot? How could I have forgotten it? And what made it come back to me now?”
Katerina Ivanovna was called to the witness-box. As she entered something extraordinary happened in the court. The ladies clutched their lorgnettes and opera-glasses. There was a stir among the men: some stood up to get a better view. Everybody alleged afterwards that Mitya had turned “white as a sheet” on her entrance. All in black, she advanced modestly, almost timidly. It was impossible to tell from her face that she was agitated36; but there was a resolute37 gleam in her dark and gloomy eyes. I may remark that many people mentioned that she looked particularly handsome at that moment. She spoke softly but clearly, so that she was heard all over the court. She expressed herself with composure, or at least tried to appear composed. The President began his examination discreetly38 and very respectfully, as though afraid to touch on “certain chords,” and showing consideration for her great unhappiness. But in answer to one of the first questions Katerina Ivanovna replied firmly that she had been formerly39 betrothed40 to the prisoner, “until he left me of his own accord . . . ” she added quietly. When they asked her about the three thousand she had entrusted41 to Mitya to post to her relations, she said firmly, “I didn’t give him the money simply to send it off. I felt at the time that he was in great need of money. . . . I gave him the three thousand on the understanding that he should post it within the month if he cared to. There was no need for him to worry himself about that debt afterwards.”
I will not repeat all the questions asked her and all her answers in detail. I will only give the substance of her evidence.
“I was firmly convinced that he would send off that sum as soon as he got money from his father,” she went on. “I have never doubted his disinterestedness42 and his honesty . . . his scrupulous43 honesty . . . in money matters. He felt quite certain that he would receive the money from his father, and spoke to me several times about it. I knew he had a feud44 with his father and have always believed that he had been unfairly treated by his father. I don’t remember any threat uttered by him against his father. He certainly never uttered any such threat before me. If he had come to me at that time, I should have at once relieved his anxiety about that unlucky three thousand roubles, but he had given up coming to see me . . . and I myself was put in such a position . . . that I could not invite him. . . . And I had no right, indeed, to be exacting45 as to that money, she added suddenly, and there was a ring of resolution in her voice. “I was once indebted to him for assistance in money for more than three thousand, and I took it, although I could not at that time foresee that I should ever be in a position to repay my debt.”
There was a note of defiance46 in her voice. It was then Fetyukovitch began his cross-examination.
“Did that take place not here, but at the beginning of your acquaintance?” Fetyukovitch suggested cautiously, feeling his way, instantly scenting47 something favourable48. I must mention in parenthesis49 that, though Fetyukovitch had been brought from Petersburg partly at the instance of Katerina Ivanovna herself, he knew nothing about the episode of the four thousand roubles given her by Mitya, and of her “bowing to the ground to him.” She concealed50 this from him and said nothing about it, and that was strange. It may be pretty certainly assumed that she herself did not know till the very last minute whether she would speak of that episode in the court, and waited for the inspiration of the moment.
No, I can never forget those moments. She began telling her story. She told everything, the whole episode that Mitya had told Alyosha, and her bowing to the ground, and her reason. She told about her father and her going to Mitya, and did not in one word, in a single hint, suggest that Mitya had himself, through her sister, proposed they should “send him Katerina Ivanovna” to fetch the money. She generously concealed that and was not ashamed to make it appear as though she had of her own impulse run to the young officer, relying on something . . . to beg him for the money. It was something tremendous! I turned cold and trembled as I listened. The court was hushed, trying to catch each word. It was something unexampled. Even from such a self-willed and contemptuously proud girl as she was, such an extremely frank avowal51, such sacrifice, such self-immolation, seemed incredible. And for what, for whom? To save the man who had deceived and insulted her and to help, in however small a degree, in saving him, by creating a strong impression in his favour. And, indeed, the figure of the young officer who, with a respectful bow to the innocent girl, handed her his last four thousand roubles — all he had in the world — was thrown into a very sympathetic and attractive light, but . . . I had a painful misgiving52 at heart! I felt that calumny53 might come of it later (and it did, in fact, it did). It was repeated all over the town afterwards with spiteful laughter that was perhaps not quite complete — that is, in the statement that the officer had let the young lady depart “with nothing but a respectful bow.” It was hinted that something was here omitted.
“And even if nothing had been omitted, if this were the whole story,” the most highly respected of our ladies maintained, “even then it’s very doubtful whether it was creditable for a young girl to behave in that way, even for the sake of saving her father.”
And can Katerina Ivanovna, with her intelligence, her morbid54 sensitiveness, have failed to understand that people would talk like that? She must have understood it, yet she made up her mind to tell everything. Of course, all these nasty little suspicions as to the truth of her story only arose afterwards and at the first moment all were deeply impressed by it. As for the judges and the lawyers, they listened in reverent55, almost shamefaced silence to Katerina Ivanovna. The prosecutor did not venture upon even one question on the subject. Fetyukovitch made a low bow to her. Oh, he was almost triumphant56! Much ground had been gained. For a man to give his last four thousand on a generous impulse and then for the same man to murder his father for the sake of robbing him of three thousand — the idea seemed too incongruous. Fetyukovitch felt that now the charge of theft, at least, was as good as disproved. “The case” was thrown into quite a different light. There was a wave of sympathy for Mitya. As for him. . . . I was told that once or twice, while Katerina Ivanovna was giving her evidence, he jumped up from his seat, sank back again, and hid his face in his hands. But when she had finished, he suddenly cried in a sobbing57 voice:
“Katya, why have you ruined me?” and his sobs58 were audible all over the court. But he instantly restrained himself, and cried again:
Then he sat rigid60 in his place, with his teeth clenched61 and his arms across his chest. Katerina Ivanovna remained in the court and sat down in her place. She was pale and sat with her eyes cast down. Those who were sitting near her declared that for a long time she shivered all over as though in a fever. Grushenka was called.
I am approaching the sudden catastrophe which was perhaps the final cause of Mitya’s ruin. For I am convinced, so is everyone — all the lawyers said the same afterwards — that if the episode had not occurred, the prisoner would at least have been recommended to mercy. But of that later. A few words first about Grushenka.
She, too, was dressed entirely62 in black, with her magnificent black shawl on her shoulders. She walked to the witness-box with her smooth, noiseless tread, with the slightly swaying gait common in women of full figure. She looked steadily63 at the President, turning her eyes neither to the right nor to the left. To my thinking she looked very handsome at that moment, and not at all pale, as the ladies alleged afterwards. They declared, too, that she had a concentrated and spiteful expression. I believe that she was simply irritated and painfully conscious of the contemptuous and inquisitive64 eyes of our scandal-loving public. She was proud and could not stand contempt. She was one of those people who flare65 up, angry and eager to retaliate66, at the mere suggestion of contempt. There was an element of timidity, too, of course, and inward shame at her own timidity, so it was not strange that her tone kept changing. At one moment it was angry, contemptuous and rough, and at another there was a sincere note of self-condemnation. Sometimes she spoke as though she were taking a desperate plunge67; as though she felt, “I don’t care what happens, I’ll say it. . . . ” Apropos68 of her acquaintance with Fyodor Pavlovitch, she remarked curtly69, “That’s all nonsense, and was it my fault that he would pester70 me?” But a minute later she added, “It was all my fault. I was laughing at them both — at the old man and at him, too — and I brought both of them to this. It was all on account of me it happened.”
Samsonov’s name came up somehow. “That’s nobody’s business,” she snapped at once, with a sort of insolent71 defiance. “He was my benefactor72; he took me when I hadn’t a shoe to my foot, when my family had turned me out.” The President reminded her, though very politely, that she must answer the questions directly, without going off into irrelevant73 details. Grushenka crimsoned74 and her eyes flashed.
The envelope with the notes in it she had not seen, but had only heard from “that wicked wretch” that Fyodor Pavlovitch had an envelope with notes for three thousand in it. “But that was all foolishness. I was only laughing. I wouldn’t have gone to him for anything.”
“To whom are you referring as ‘that wicked wretch’?” inquired the prosecutor.
“The lackey75, Smerdyakov, who murdered his master and hanged himself last night.”
She was, of course, at once asked what ground she had for such a definite accusation; but it appeared that she, too, had no grounds for it.
“Dmitri Fyodorovitch told me so himself; you can believe him. The woman who came between us has ruined him; she is the cause of it all, let me tell you,” Grushenka added. She seemed to be quivering with hatred, and there was a vindictive76 note in her voice.
She was again asked to whom she was referring.
“The young lady, Katerina Ivanovna there. She sent for me, offered me chocolate, tried to fascinate me. There’s not much true shame about her, I can tell you that . . . ”
At this point the President checked her sternly, begging her to moderate her language. But the jealous woman’s heart was burning, and she did not care what she did.
“When the prisoner was arrested at Mokroe,” the prosecutor asked, “everyone saw and heard you run out of the next room and cry out: ‘It’s all my fault. We’ll go to Siberia together!’ So you already believed him to have murdered his father?”
“I don’t remember what I felt at the time,” answered Grushenka. “Everyone was crying out that he had killed his father, and I felt that it was my fault, that it was on my account he had murdered him. But when he said he wasn’t guilty, I believed him at once, and I believe him now and always shall believe him. He is not the man to tell a lie.”
Fetyukovitch began his cross-examination. I remember that among other things he asked about Rakitin and the twenty-five roubles “you paid him for bringing Alexey Fyodorovitch Karamazov to see you.”
“There was nothing strange about his taking the money,” sneered77 Grushenka, with angry contempt. “He was always coming to me for money: he used to get thirty roubles a month at least out of me, chiefly for luxuries: he had enough to keep him without my help.”
“What led you to be so liberal to Mr. Rakitin?” Fetyukovitch asked, in spite of an uneasy movement on the part of the President.
“Why, he is my cousin. His mother was my mother’s sister. But he’s always besought78 me not to tell anyone here of it, he is so dreadfully ashamed of me.”
This fact was a complete surprise to everyone; no one in the town nor in the monastery, not even Mitya, knew of it. I was told that Rakitin turned purple with shame where he sat. Grushenka had somehow heard before she came into the court that he had given evidence against Mitya, and so she was angry. The whole effect on the public, of Rakitin’s speech, of his noble sentiments, of his attacks upon serfdom and the political disorder79 of Russia, was this time finally ruined. Fetyukovitch was satisfied: it was another godsend. Grushenka’s cross-examination did not last long and, of course, there could be nothing particularly new in her evidence. She left a very disagreeable impression on the public; hundreds of contemptuous eyes were fixed80 upon her, as she finished giving her evidence and sat down again in the court, at a good distance from Katerina Ivanovna. Mitya was silent throughout her evidence. He sat as though turned to stone, with his eyes fixed on the ground.
Ivan was called to give evidence.
1 sketched | |
v.草拟(sketch的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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2 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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3 rivalry | |
n.竞争,竞赛,对抗 | |
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4 repelled | |
v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 );使厌恶;排斥;推开 | |
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5 obsession | |
n.困扰,无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
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6 prosecutor | |
n.起诉人;检察官,公诉人 | |
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7 unwilling | |
adj.不情愿的 | |
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8 indirectly | |
adv.间接地,不直接了当地 | |
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9 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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10 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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11 trumpet | |
n.喇叭,喇叭声;v.吹喇叭,吹嘘 | |
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12 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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13 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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14 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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15 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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16 investigation | |
n.调查,调查研究 | |
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17 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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18 prosecution | |
n.起诉,告发,检举,执行,经营 | |
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19 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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20 guilt | |
n.犯罪;内疚;过失,罪责 | |
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21 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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22 accusation | |
n.控告,指责,谴责 | |
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23 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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24 catastrophe | |
n.大灾难,大祸 | |
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25 recollecting | |
v.记起,想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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26 monastery | |
n.修道院,僧院,寺院 | |
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27 regaining | |
复得( regain的现在分词 ); 赢回; 重回; 复至某地 | |
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28 shuddering | |
v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 );发抖;(机器、车辆等)突然震动;颤动 | |
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29 entreating | |
恳求,乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
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30 pounced | |
v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 );猛扑;一眼看出;抓住机会(进行抨击) | |
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31 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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32 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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33 shameful | |
adj.可耻的,不道德的 | |
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34 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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35 alleged | |
a.被指控的,嫌疑的 | |
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36 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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37 resolute | |
adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
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38 discreetly | |
ad.(言行)审慎地,慎重地 | |
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39 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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40 betrothed | |
n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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41 entrusted | |
v.委托,托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42 disinterestedness | |
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43 scrupulous | |
adj.审慎的,小心翼翼的,完全的,纯粹的 | |
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44 feud | |
n.长期不和;世仇;v.长期争斗;世代结仇 | |
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45 exacting | |
adj.苛求的,要求严格的 | |
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46 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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47 scenting | |
vt.闻到(scent的现在分词形式) | |
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48 favourable | |
adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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49 parenthesis | |
n.圆括号,插入语,插曲,间歇,停歇 | |
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50 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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51 avowal | |
n.公开宣称,坦白承认 | |
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52 misgiving | |
n.疑虑,担忧,害怕 | |
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53 calumny | |
n.诽谤,污蔑,中伤 | |
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54 morbid | |
adj.病的;致病的;病态的;可怕的 | |
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55 reverent | |
adj.恭敬的,虔诚的 | |
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56 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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57 sobbing | |
<主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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58 sobs | |
啜泣(声),呜咽(声)( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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59 condemned | |
adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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60 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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61 clenched | |
v.紧握,抓紧,咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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63 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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64 inquisitive | |
adj.求知欲强的,好奇的,好寻根究底的 | |
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65 flare | |
v.闪耀,闪烁;n.潮红;突发 | |
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66 retaliate | |
v.报复,反击 | |
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67 plunge | |
v.跳入,(使)投入,(使)陷入;猛冲 | |
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68 apropos | |
adv.恰好地;adj.恰当的;关于 | |
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69 curtly | |
adv.简短地 | |
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70 pester | |
v.纠缠,强求 | |
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71 insolent | |
adj.傲慢的,无理的 | |
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72 benefactor | |
n. 恩人,行善的人,捐助人 | |
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73 irrelevant | |
adj.不恰当的,无关系的,不相干的 | |
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74 crimsoned | |
变为深红色(crimson的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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75 lackey | |
n.侍从;跟班 | |
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76 vindictive | |
adj.有报仇心的,怀恨的,惩罚的 | |
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77 sneered | |
讥笑,冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78 besought | |
v.恳求,乞求(某事物)( beseech的过去式和过去分词 );(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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79 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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80 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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